Terminal Velocity
by tridget
Summary: Shep whump ensues when The Pegasus Coalition puts the Atlantean's offer of commitment to the test. The mission may end up being the last for John and his team...
1. Chapter 1

**Note: ** A special than you to my beta reader, **wildcat88** over at** LiveJournal**. Her time, patience and awesome beta reading skills are greatly appreciated.

**Terminal Velocity**

**Part One**

Waking up was the toughest time of day for John. Sure, he could go from a deep sleep to feet on the ground, alert, and P-90 at the ready in a matter of seconds, no problem. What he struggled with were the mornings when nothing in particular woke him up. He hated the disorientation of that minute when he hadn't quite figured out where he was and why he was there. John hated the moment when he didn't have a plan, when he didn't feel as if he had the situation under control. Most of all, he hated the seemingly interminable seconds when he didn't know if his teammates were safe or not.

This morning was another one of those freefall mornings, and John hadn't yet determined if his parachute was about to open or if he was going to slam into the ground at terminal velocity. He fought to control his breathing as his heart began to race. He willed himself to remain relaxed, to suppress even the slightest twitch. On the off-chance that he was being held captive somewhere, he wasn't giving away any information, not even the fact that he was awake.

While John's body worked at maintaining the appearance of being asleep, his mind scrambled to gather the available scraps of information. He wasn't on Atlantis. The soothing hum of her workings, audible to John courtesy of his ATA gene, was absent. Offworld then. Underneath John, the clean-smelling, reasonably soft bed held some promise that he was with one of the Atlantean allies. At the very least, he wasn't on a hive ship or in a Genii prison. That was always a plus. John took stock of himself, stretching his senses for tactile cues while remaining motionless. No boots, no thigh holster, no uniform shirt or tac vest – just his pants and a T-shirt. Either he'd been stripped of half his gear or he'd been comfortable enough with the situation to remove the items voluntarily before bed. John was betting on voluntary removal because apart from a slight headache, his body didn't feel as if it had been through the types of events that would leave him deprived of essential equipment. And he'd been through them more than often enough to know.

Not too far away, John heard a gentle rustle of fabric followed by Rodney's familiar soft snoring. So, at least one member of his team was accounted for. John's heart no longer hammered quite so hard inside his chest.

John allowed himself to shift under the covers and take a deeper breath. No one yanked him up by the hair. No one kicked him in the stomach. No one threw a bucket of water over him. So far, so good. He cracked his eyelids open. Rodney lay asleep on a bed about twenty feet away across a neatly furnished room. The presence of a small table, two chairs, a couple of bedside storage chests, a water pitcher, linens and a few pieces of pottery that appeared to be decorative pretty much confirmed the hypothesis that they were guests…somewhere. John felt his chest tighten again with unease. His mind wasn't filling in the blanks this time.

With that thought, John switched to high-adrenaline mode. He pushed himself to a sitting position, swinging his feet over the side of the bed. Bad idea. He fought the overwhelming urge to lie down again as the room spun in circles and his head started to pound. Maybe the situation was a little less promising than he'd originally surmised. He scanned the room for the exit, swallowing against the queasiness produced by the motion. The door was wooden with a simple crossbar on the inside. It didn't look like they were locked in. Okay, that was a positive sign.

Next John searched for his gear, trying to ignore the hot spikes of pain that action set off behind his eyes. Relieved to see the items resting on the storage chest by his bed, John moved cautiously to check that his weaponry still held ammunition. The weapons were fine. His head…not so much.

"McKay?" John hissed, struggling to get to his feet and cross the room. Halfway to his teammate's side, he staggered and dropped onto one of the chairs. It was either that or drop onto the floor. "McKay!"

"Wha…?" McKay rolled over on the bed and swiped a trickle of saliva away from the side of his mouth.

"McKay, are you all right?"

"No. No, I'm not okay." McKay groaned and inched himself upward. "God, why can't we find a world that has progressed to the technological point of having therapeutic mattresses or even just one where the straw stuffing in the beds isn't too soft or too hard for my back?"

"Suck it up, Goldilocks." John grumbled, grabbing the table with one hand in an effort to keep himself upright. "Look, I—"

"What's _your_ problem?" McKay glanced at John. "Did you get out of bed on the wrong side this morning? Although, you know, I never quite understood that phrase. When I was a kid, I kept a chart for a while, marking which side of the bed I got up on and how my day went. Unfortunately my study was hampered by the fact that most days were crappy and it took a really long time to get out of bed on the days I got up on the side against the wall. Still, I—"

"McKay!" John pressed one hand to his forehead, wishing he'd kept his voice down a few notches.

"What? I…" McKay took a closer look at his friend and drew in a sharp breath. "Did you…?" McKay's eyes widened. "You did!" he accused.

"Did what?" John feared he might have done whatever 'it' was because there had to be a reason the wooden planks on the floor were swirling so much that they looked as if they were being sucked into a vortex. There had to be a reason he felt like he might puke into the maelstrom.

McKay just shook his head and sighed.

"Did what?" John repeated through teeth that were clenched, partly because of the nausea and partly because McKay was pissing him off.

"Ronon said not to drink that stuff at the meet and eat last night or you'd be hungover for a week, but you probably thought you'd have another try at impressing the attractive hostess who was serving the stuff. You—"

"I didn't drink it." John refrained from shaking his head in denial.

"How do you know you didn't? If you drank it and it was as potent as Ronon claimed, it's pretty unlikely you'd remember drinking it."

"If Ronon said not to, I wouldn't." John tried to make it a statement but it came out sounding like a question because he thought that might explain the absence of any thoughts whatsoever about the previous day…and shit, he seemed to be missing the day before that, too. He pressed one arm against his stomach, wishing he could quell the churning that seemed to be growing worse by the second.

"Crap, it must have been the chair then. You said you were fine. Of course no one believed you after you toppled out of the thing and threw up, but you seemed okay after that." McKay paused and peered at John. "You're not going to be sick again are you?"

John gave a noncommittal mumble because he was starting to think maybe he should do just that and get it over with.

McKay stood up. "I'm going to get Teyla. She's better with these things."

John folded his arms on the table and groaned as he lowered his aching head to rest on them. He heard McKay's footsteps pause at the door and then head back toward him.

"Better take the T-shirt off. My T-shirt, actually, because you didn't bring a spare one with you. How you can remember to pack enough ammunition to take out an entire continent, but not remember a spare shirt is beyond me."

John tugged at the black material, complying readily. His head hurt way too much to argue now. But it proved to be surprisingly difficult to find his way out of the shirt when he couldn't tell up from down. The clothing became tangled somewhere around his head and upper arms until McKay yanked him free. Shivering as the cool morning air brushed across his skin, John wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed his eyes shut against the vertigo the movement had produced. Also a bad idea. He opened them again to see a fuzzy version of McKay exit their accommodation and disappear down the hallway.

The room continued to spin. John pressed his feet against the floor hoping to retain some sense of direction. He reminded himself that despite the way it appeared, his feet were on the floor. It didn't help. Knowing he couldn't stay balanced on the chair any longer, he opted to lower himself to the floor before he keeled over and smacked into it.

Splayed face-first on the ground, John tried to steady himself, gripping the floor with his fingers when he had the sudden sensation that the room had flipped upside down, leaving him suspended from the ceiling. The sensation made his gut roil with a vengeance. Crap. This was turning out to be one of those 'hit the ground with terminal velocity' days.

~~~~oooo~~~~

"John!" Teyla rushed through the door and dropped to her knees at his side.

John turned his head toward Teyla, unable to stifle a moan as it slid past his lips.

"McKay…" Ronon growled as he entered the room.

"It…it's not my fault" McKay protested. "I didn't do anything."

"You did not mention that John was _this_ ill," Teyla admonished, lifting John's wrist to check his pulse.

"He wasn't…at least he wasn't a few minutes ago. Maybe it just looks worse now because he's half-naked and lying on the floor groaning."

Any inclination John had to downplay his predicament went out the window after hearing McKay's description, because he had to concede that it probably looked pretty bad.

Another shiver wracked his body.

"Where is his clothing?" Teyla demanded.

"It wasn't _his_ shirt," McKay picked the dark fabric off his bed, clutching it to his chest. "It was mine. In fact, it's the only other clean tee we have and he looked like he was gonna puke again."

Ronon yanked the top out of McKay's hands and bent down in front of John as though he considered redressing him.

"N-no moving," John breathed. "Dizzy."

"Okay." Ronon tossed the shirt aside and grabbed a blanket from the stack of linens. He tucked the fabric around John with the least disturbance possible.

The blanket helped a bit. It was soft and warm and the weight made John feel a little more anchored to the floor.

"John." Teyla's voice was insistent.

John realized Teyla had been talking to him, asking how he was feeling, asking about symptoms. It was hard to think much beyond his effort to battle the vertigo. He thought he should mention the nausea and the headache from hell, but putting a sentence together was out of the question. And maybe he should mention the memory thing. John moaned and dug his fingers into the floor again. "M-my fingerssss h-hurt," he stammered out, surprised because he hadn't noticed before now that they felt so scraped and raw. He suspected that somewhere between his brain and his mouth the priority of the symptoms had been lost.

John felt a large, solid hand wrap around one of his own.

"He's got splinters from the floor," Ronon stated.

"I hate splinters," McKay muttered. "Where are my socks and boots?"

While McKay scrambled to cover his feet, John felt a sheet being eased between his hands and the rough planks. He curled his damaged fingertips into the cool material.

"So," McKay tugged at the laces on his boots, "Do you think he drank the local rotgut or the chair did something to him…or…or…" His voice rose a notch with anxiety. "Maybe it's an alien disease. Did anyone bring any hand sanitizer?"

"His symptoms appear most similar to when he finished using the chair yesterday. However, they were _not_ this extreme. Rodney—" Teyla turned toward her teammate.

"Yes. Yes. I'm on it." John heard McKay open his laptop and start typing while muttering about the Ancients' inefficient system of cataloguing information.

Teyla moved toward the pitcher and began pouring water. "Ronon, perhaps you could—"

"Got it. Gonna see if they have a healer." He strode out of the room.

Teyla placed a cool, damp cloth on John's head. The cloth did little for the symptoms, but it felt nice anyway.

"I…I…n-need…" John made a small, vague gesture with one hand, searching for a succinct way to ask his question. Every word cost him a portion of the energy it took to manage the vertigo.

"What do you need?" McKay prompted.

"Give him a minute." Teyla began cleaning and bandaging one of John's hands.

"Up…update… God!" John gasped as the pain spike in his head.

"An update?" McKay squeaked. "I've barely powered up here let alone searched through the enormous stream of data I downloaded yesterday. This is gonna take hours even considering the fact that I'm motivated by your current condition."

"No… Wha'…h-happn'd?" John gagged and swallowed, hoping his words now clarified his need to know what they were up against, because talking again at the moment was not a good plan.

McKay grabbed some sort of ceramic bowl from the display shelf and deposited it in front of John. "Here. Try not to use this."

"We are not certain…" Teyla began, in answer to John's question. "Rodney alerted Ronon and me this morning when..."

The sounds of her words began to warp in John's ears, fading in and out. He tried to concentrate on the words, but the task divided his attention too much and his stomach seized the moment to stage its mutiny.

~~~~oooo~~~~

John's stomach called a truce after the second or maybe it was the third wave of its attack.

Teyla had turned John onto his side but it was a struggle to remain perched in what felt like a precarious position. He flopped onto his back, feeling the floor tilt from side to side beneath him.

"S'rry," he mumbled, feeling almost too wiped out to be embarrassed.

"Do not concern yourself with this." Teyla wiped John's face with another cool cloth and then went about tidying up the aftermath of the battle.

"Um," McKay paused in his typing. "I really hope they don't have some sort of policy here. You know the type. 'If you should drop it — or in this case puke in it…'" McKay scrunched up his face, "'…consider it sold.'"

John's mind couldn't even dredge up a retort.

The door to the room flung open. Ronon burst in with an elderly, grey-robed man in tow.

"Oh, great!" McKay tossed his hands in the air. "He dug up Gandalf."

Forgoing introductions, the healer flowed across the room to where John lay. "Oh, dear," he fretted as he hovered over John for a moment.

John thought that didn't bode well for the man's level of skill. He still felt way beyond crappy and just wished the man would go away. He thought he might mention that as soon as he gathered his strength.

"What are you planning on doing?" McKay demanded of the white-haired gentleman.

"An examination." The healer rummaged in the folds of his robes and pulled out an instrument similar to one of Keller's handheld scanners.

"And the examination will consist of what?" McKay pressed, coming to lurk over the proceedings.

The man frowned. "You are crowding the patient."

McKay didn't budge.

The scanner lit up like a Christmas tree as it was passed over John's body. John thought it ironic that the gadget should respond with such vigor when he felt so close to death.

Upon seeing the array of lights, the healer gasped, reaching out a wrinkled hand to place a reverent touch on John's forehead. "He _is_ an Old One."

"He's not _that_ old," McKay protested.

"I thought there were no more. I thought the Old Ones were gone." The healer's voice sounded almost mournful. He sighed, and then shook his head. The scanning device disappeared back into his robes. "Greatness comes at a cost," he proclaimed in a solemn tone.

"Did you get that out of a Chinese fortune cookie?" McKay demanded.

The man glared at McKay, huffing before resuming. "Like the few revered Old Ones who have come here to assist us, this one is also quite…fragile."

"Fragile?" Now it was Ronon who could not contain himself. "Sheppard's _not_ fragile."

Despite Ronon's assertion, John figured that the healer might have a point at the moment.

"Do you wish to hear my findings or not?'

"We wish to hear them," Teyla stated. "I apologize if my friends have offended you. It is their way of showing concern."

The healer appeared to consider Teyla's words for a moment. "The Old Ones are not strong enough for the tasks before them. We ask too much of them." The healer leaned towards John's team, lowering his voice. "Has he been…working?" The last word was almost inaudible.

"Probably less than the rest of us," said McKay. "You have no idea how far behind he is in his paperwork."

The healer's brow wrinkled. "I know not of paper work." He lowered his voice again. "Is it done in a chair?"

McKay nodded. "And Sheppard usually does it with his feet on the desk, too."

"Did you mean a chair of the Ancestors?" Teyla asked.

"Shhhh." The man held a finger to his lips. "We do not speak of this aloud."

"Would it be a problem if he had been…working?" Teyla diplomatically whispered the question.

The healer looked at John once more. "Is that not obvious?"

John tried to think of the last time he'd been called upon to use the Atlantean device. It didn't seem that he had used it in recent weeks. The gaps in his memory felt almost as disorienting as the vertigo. "I don't...remem…remember," John ground out.

"That may be for the best." The healer turned to Ronon. "I have said too much already. I must go. Come with me. I will prepare some powders to ease the symptoms. Time is of the essence."

John wondered why his team didn't fetch the jumper…if they came in one, or why they didn't dial Atlantis for help. He didn't think a 'powder' was going to cut it against the way he felt. But darkness claimed him before he could ask.

~~~~oooo~~~~

John woke to the sound of Teyla humming as she removed a damp cloth from his forehead and combed his wet bangs with her fingers. For some reason, John figured that he really shouldn't like that so much. But he did. And he liked waking up knowing immediately that one of his team members was okay.

His memory of the day's events cascaded into place. Since the surface beneath him was now soft, John figured Ronon had come back from the healer's place and had moved him to the bed. The rhythmic clicking of a keyboard could be heard. That meant McKay was still busy with his research. All present and accounted for. John sighed with relief and opened his eyes.

Teyla smiled at him. "It is good to see you are awake now."

John had the uneasy feeling that Teyla knew he had been awake for a few minutes, but she'd never mention it if she did.

McKay jumped up from the table. "How are you feeling?"

John thought about it for a moment. His entire body ached as if he had the flu and then some. He'd been awake for three minutes at most and already he felt tired enough to go back to sleep. "Kinda like crap," he rasped.

"The medicine did not help?" Teyla looked at John, her brow furrowing with concern.

John had a vague memory of being given some bitter powder. "It helped. 'Kinda like crap' is better than before." It was at least good enough for John to think he should start figuring out what the hell was going on. He tried to push himself up on one arm but his elbow buckled and he pitched forward over the side of the bed.

Teyla caught John, and Ronon darted over to assist in depositing him back on the pillows.

"This sucks," John muttered before the sore, dry tickle in his throat turned into a fit of coughing.

Ronon helped John to sit up again so that he could he sip at the water Teyla offered.

John was grateful that his teammates pretended not to notice how badly the cup shook in his hands. Despite his thirst, John soon returned the cup to Teyla, not feeling sure what his stomach's response to the water was going to be. He took a few deep breaths. "Okay. Here's the thing… I seem to have forgotten what happened yesterday." John wondered if he might have been able to ease into that declaration a bit better.

"Crap. All of it?" McKay asked. "What's the last thing you remember?

John thought for a minute. One hand rubbed across his forehead, massaging a slight ache that was starting up again. The headache wasn't particularly bad, but he felt himself bracing for a repeat of the earlier onslaught. "I remember bits of a meeting with Woolsey…"

"See now, that's a problem right there because, seriously, who remembers meetings with Woolsey?"

John was saved from wasting his energy on deciding whether or not to let that remark pass when Ronon glanced at McKay with an expression that made his mouth snap shut.

"I remember something about a mission… The IOA wants us more involved with the Coalition and someone sent a request for us to look at an Ancient outpost. Latira maybe? Are we on Latira now?" John asked.

McKay looked at John for a minute, almost as though he were waiting for John to say he was joking. When John didn't confess to a prank, McKay's face fell. "Yeah… Latira… Crap, this is so not good."

"I think this is the part where we make a run for it and get the hell outta Dodge," John said.

His teammates exchanged looks.

"Okay, I may not be running very far right now, but we _are_ planning on leaving, right?" John had the distinct feeling his friends were avoiding looking him in the eye. "Did we bring a jumper? Has anyone checked in with Atlantis yet?"

"You disabled the gate yesterday when you were using the Latiran's chair," Ronon said.

"We're stuck here," McKay added, "unless you want to risk life and limb, or at the very least a significant portion of grey matter, to try the chair again."

"They have a chair _here_? " The conversation that had swirled around him during his bout with vertigo began to fit together. John's stomach flipped. He wasn't sure if it was mounting a protest against the water he'd ingested or clenching in anxiety over exactly what sort of predicament they were in – a predicament which he might have contributed to. "I…I…I don't know why I did that."

McKay sighed, returning to his laptop. "I don't know why you did that either. You're not exactly communicative when you're using the chair. Of course, you're not exactly communicative the rest of the time either, but especially not when you're doing the neural interface thing… I suppose the gate screw-up will be up to me to figure out." The last remark was muttered to himself as he typed.

Teyla checked the bandages on John's fingers. "We did not think it was wise for you to use the chair again yesterday."

"So…go on," McKay prompted John, making a rolling motion with one hand while pecking at the keyboard with the other.

John frowned, recalling snatches of conversation and snippets of daily life. He shot a dark look at McKay. "Someone's out of coffee."

"It figures you'd remember that. I had a few bad moments. Maybe the healer was right. It's for the best that some things are forgotten… Anyway, the problem is that the Daedalus was delayed on some do-good mission—"

"They are assisting in rescue and relocation for the victims of a natural disaster on a planet at the edge of the Milky Way," Teyla supplied.

"The bottom line is no coffee and no rescue anytime soon," McKay groused.

"Not necessarily in that order." John scrubbed his hands tiredly over his face. He refused to give in to the pull of sleep until he knew where they stood and until he had a plan. He searched his memory for more information, but his mind hit a wall, turning the ache behind his eyes into a pulsating throb again. "That's…uh…that's about it."

"That's it? That's where your memories end?" Over the top of his screen, McKay gaped at John.

"So, fill me in already. How long ago was that?" John knew that he sounded irritated and didn't care that he did. He was fed up not knowing what had happened. And the room was starting to sway again.

"That was four days ago. Maybe you did hit your head."

As McKay spoke, Teyla reached out to examine John's head again, but he pulled away. He'd had enough of the patient routine for one day.

"I'd say you can rule out a concussion. Doesn't feel like one to me."

"Okay, so maybe the chair here works a bit differently. The healer — if you could call that quack a healer — didn't seem to think using it was such a good idea. I've been going through the database of information I downloaded while you were using the one in the Latiran outpost yesterday." McKay turned his laptop screen around to face his teammates.

When John sat up straighter to get a look at the screen, he felt the blood drain from his face as his vision grayed around the edges.

"A lot of it is a duplication of information we already have," McKay continued, "but… Sheppard? Sheppard! Oh, shit."

That was the last thing John heard before darkness descended again.

~~~~oooo~~~~

"Okay, what do we know about Latira?" John asked. Two more doses of the healer's concoction, a good night's sleep, and a lukewarm, local equivalent of a shower had resulted in him feeling almost human again.

"They are primarily agrarian," Teyla began. "They have some knowledge of the Ancestors or 'Old Ones' as they call them. Technology gained from offworld trading has allowed them to make more progress than might be expected at this point in their development. They are—"

"A bunch of farmers who know too much for their own good," McKay cut in.

Teyla arched one eyebrow and fixed McKay with a stare. "I was about to say that they are quite similar to the Athosians."

"Oh," McKay said in a small voice. "Sorry… Taking foot out of mouth now. Caffeine withdrawal's a bitch." He sighed, and then perked up, hefting a thick pottery mug from a tray of breakfast food. "But I'm about to try the sludge that the Latirans drink in the morning — although I doubt it will pack the same punch as coffee." He took a swig of the thick liquid and swallowed. His eyes bulged. "Oh, my God!" McKay gasped.

Teyla removed the mug and began mixing the brew with hot water. "I will see if I can dilute the 'sludge' for you."

The offer was kind, but John could hear tension in her voice that suggested she was still a bit touchy about the 'farmer' remark. Actually, she'd been a bit touchy about a number of things since the pregnancy. John had tried to say as much in the most delicate and understanding way he could think of. That conversation had not ended well.

John watched as McKay barely acknowledge Teyla's offer with an absentminded nod and started clacking away on his keyboard. Ronon grinned at them and then dug into the food. John gingerly picked at various items, making sure his body was in agreement with the meal choices. So, apart from the fact they were stranded, his team's morning routine seemed to be going about the same as always, John concluded.

There had been no indication of threat towards the Atlantean team. John was beginning to think that they could spend some time poking around the Ancient facility, giving the malfunctioning chair a wide berth until McKay figured out how to fix it or the Daedalus showed up in a few weeks.

Once breakfast was over, the team set about clearing up the plates and cups. Teyla carried them down the hallway to place outside the door for pick-up as they had been instructed. Room service of a sort. Not such a bad way to spend a few weeks. Between his team's run-in with the renegade Asgard, Michael's recent visit and his own time spent with the Sakari, John figured a little down time might not be a bad thing. Now, if they just had a beach, maybe a bit of surf…

John's reverie was interrupted by a knock at the door. Despite the fact that they had expected Kelore to arrive, Ronon headed toward the door with his blaster drawn. John knew that as far as Ronon was concerned, his team leader had been taken down once and he wasn't about to let it happen again – even if the culprit had been a technological glitch. John smiled as a feeling of well-being descended upon him… Then he wiped the smile off his face and fumbled with bandaged fingers to at least strap on his sidearm while wondering just what the hell had been in the powder.

Kelore walked in – or maybe shuffled would be more accurate. The healer trailed close behind. Kelore looked gaunt and much paler than John remembered. Not quite Wraith-pale, but still… Wraith-pale…or maybe pale Wraith. John wondered if that might make a good name for a new crayon color or perhaps a paint color – as in 'I'd like to have my quarters painted Pale-Wraith.' He snickered and then covered it with a cough. He thought of standing to greet Kelore but wasn't quite sure if he was going to pull it off with as much dignity as he'd like, so he chose to stay seated. John considered trying to catch the attention of one of his teammates, but then what? It wasn't like they had a discreet hand signal for 'Help, I've been drugged.' Besides, he felt pretty good, all things considered.

John shook his head, trying to clear it, realizing Kelore was talking. He tried to focus on the words.

"It is imperative that you complete the necessary tasks and that you complete them immediately. To that end, I offer the services of our healer, Melkus. He will accompany you to the outpost today and provide any medical support needed in order to complete the requirements." Kelore pivoted to leave as though it were a done deal.

"No. No. No," McKay called Kelore back. "Your facility practically fried Sheppard's brain cells. And besides," McKay moved to stand protectively in front of John, "he's…he's…fragile." He turned toward the healer for confirmation. "You said so, yourself."

Kelore's eyes flashed. "Did you say that?" he demanded of Melkus.

"P-p-perhaps," Melkus stuttered. "I may have spoken words of that sort. But…but that was yesterday." The man seemed to brighten at the possibility that John's current state might erase his own ill-chosen words of the previous day. He turned to John. "How are you feeling today?"

John thought about the question. But, he got sidetracked for a moment by pretty ribbons of color that coalesced as they wafted by. "Hmmm?" His head felt heavy and it seemed to loll towards one shoulder as he tried to tackle the question again.

"John?" Teyla was kneeling in front of him. She grasped his head between her hands, trying to get him to look at her.

In the background, the healer was twittering about the difficulty in determining the correct dosage for the 'Old Ones.'

"John!" Teyla tried to catch his attention again. "What is wrong?"

John frowned. He knew he needed to answer Teyla. "Think I fell down the rabbit hole," he slurred.

~~~~oooo~~~~

John liked the sun's rays. They were warm and soothing, and they made a nice contrast with the cool breeze whispering across his skin. So, he passed a pleasant morning, while he lay on the bed humming to himself. At least he thought it was pleasant…until the effects of the powder wore off. Reconsidering his activities or lack of them for the last two hours, John groaned and flung one arm across his eyes.

"Are you feeling ill again?" Teyla was at his side in an instant.

"No. This is just…just so goddamn embarrassing. When we get home, I want the coordinates to this planet locked out of the computer."

"Consider it done," McKay assured. "And…uh…I promise never to mention this mission again…or…or hold it over you, or anything else I might normally do with a mission-gone-bad."

"Now, see, I don't know whether to be grateful for that or to feel worse because this fiasco is getting special consideration. But…thanks." John sat up slowly and swung his legs over the side of the bed, relieved to find that nothing hurt and the room held steady as a rock. He looked at his watch. It was time for lunch and long past time for some action. "What say we have lunch while you all fill me in on the specifics of the mission and then we head over to the outpost and have a look around…or, uh, another look around?"

McKay opened his mouth, but John cut him off before he could launch a protest. "Avoiding the chair, of course."

"Sounds like a plan," Ronon agreed.

"Kelore insists that the healer accompany us," Teyla reminded them.

"That charlatan?" McKay squeaked. "We're not going to let him hang around are we?"

"His skills did appear to be…less than adequate." Teyla twisted her mouth wryly. "But his knowledge of Latira and of the Ancestors may be useful."

John considered that for a moment. "We'll take him." He turned to Ronon "But if he tries to give me any powder, shoot him."

~~~~oooo~~~~

At the outer edge of the village, Melkus led the team to a wagon. John welcomed the idea despite the less than domesticated-looking beasts of burden harnessed to the transport. He was more fatigued than he'd expected, but he'd be damned if he was going to allow the healer another chance to see him as being 'fragile.' The open cart gave John an acceptable excuse to sit down.

The floor of the wagon was well-covered with thick blankets which helped to absorb the shock of bouncing over the rutted, rock-strewn road. It was obvious that maintaining a path to and from the gate wasn't a priority. John wondered just how often the villagers actually traveled this road.

The blankets didn't do much to buffer the effects of the sharp swerves caused by the four oversized boar-like creatures not being in agreement as to which direction they should take. Ronon said the animals reminded him of the fanged, six-legged meefniks on Sateda. A lot of things reminded Ronon of Sateda, but John suspected his friend made up half the fearsome, mutant animals he recalled with such fondness. McKay asked whether or not Sateda had ever experienced high levels of radiation or problems with toxic waste. That was a mistake. Teyla opened her mouth as if she might be preparing to intervene in Ronon's response. But she was saved from having to do so when McKay turned green and dropped his head onto his knees, asking if any of them had brought along some Dramamine. Ronon just kicked McKay with his foot and said justice had been served. John figured he might try to walk back from the outpost after all.

Not a moment to soon, the cart rounded a hill revealing a decidedly Ancient-designed spire, thrusting upward out of the ground. One spire. And not quite four stories tall at that.

"This is like an iceberg, right?" John asked climbing out of the rickety contraption. "Eighty to ninety percent is below the surface?"

McKay gulped a few deep breaths of fresh air as he alighted. "No, it's more like eighty to ninety percent of the outpost is _above_ the surface. Behold the broom closet of the Ancients."

"It is indeed quite small," Teyla frowned. "It is not nearly as imposing as many other Ancient structures that we have encountered."

John shook his head, puzzled. "It's hard to believe the Ancients equipped this place with a control chair."

"I thought size didn't matter," McKay smirked.

John reached out to cuff McKay across the side of the head, but was surprised when his friend anticipated his move and darted out of the way.

"Hello? Déjà vu, anyone? We had this conversation the last time." McKay gave John an insufferably smug smile.

"Then let me add something new—" John began. But he was cut off when Melkus approached.

"The wagon has been secured." The man rubbed his hands together with enthusiasm. "That was most invigorating. Would you believe it has been many years since I have driven a cart?"

"I believe you," Ronon deadpanned.

John glanced at the insubstantial post to which the animals were tethered. It seemed that the odds were slim that the frenzied pigs would still be there when the team came out of the structure. "Let's go," he said and headed towards the outpost.

~~~~oooo~~~~

It wasn't a broom closet. More like an Ancient bus terminal, John thought. A gate sat on a raised platform at the far end of the room. The other half of the room consisted of about two dozen chairs scattered around and a control room. The glass-walled portion could easily have been a ticket booth. All that was needed was a sign announcing arrivals and departures. Then again, that might have been exactly what the Ancient writing on one wall said.

McKay's impressions differed. "It looks like an IKEA warehouse. Same crappy Swedish chairs."

John walked past the stretch of familiar sea green and orange walls that led toward the gate. Figuring the ceiling was lower than might be expected based on the outside appearance of the structure, he gazed upwards. Faint lines in the ceiling created a spark of hope. "I don't suppose there's a Puddlejumper or two up there?"

"Puddlejumper?" Melkus' brows knit together.

"Uh…spaceship…one that flies through the gate?" John clarified.

"Ah! You mean the Gateships of the Old Ones?"

"Ha!" McKay pumped one fist in the air in triumph at the mention of the word 'Gateship.' "You see? Great minds think alike."

"Fools seldom differ," John muttered under his breath as he turned and strode past McKay.

"And you thought my caffeine withdrawal episodes were bad," McKay retorted. "You are such a sore loser."

John might have responded, but he was still too taken with the possibility of more Puddlejumpers. "Can we take a look around upstairs?"

"No." Melkus shook his head. "Kelore was quite clear to me on that point."

"Kelore? Why would he—"

"He said that an examination of activities in this galaxy indicated a history of damage to the precious Gateships."

"Was he referring to the Ancients — the Old Ones in general or the current Atlanteans, specifically?" John asked.

Melkus looked almost apologetic. "He meant _you_, specifically."

"Oh."

McKay snickered. John was going to plan a suitable payback once they returned to Atlantis.

John made a mental note to ask McKay to check the computer's database for a nearby planet with a gate. Maybe they could still convince the Latirans to at least loan them a jumper for the trip home. Of course, disabling the Latiran gate wasn't much of a selling point. And 'borrowing' one without permission wasn't very much in keeping with the IOA's plans to make sure they were in on the ground floor of the newly developing alliances in the galaxy. John turned his attention back to the more immediate task. "So, where's the other tenth of the facility?"

Melkus stiffened, his eyes darting about. He blew out a breath and his shoulders seemed to sag with relief. "It is safe to speak of this now."

Teyla returned from her examination of what appeared to be artwork upon the wall. "Why were we not to speak of this earlier?"

"We must let the people find their own path. Oh, they know of the occasional traveler who visits their land and they know their Guardian travels afar on their behalf when needed. We must not interfere in their lives."

"Who's the Guardian?" John asked, but his words were lost as the healer scurried toward the control room. He turned to his team. "We didn't ask that before, did we?"

Ronon shook his head. "Never heard about the path the last time either."

"Come," Melkus beckoned. "Time is still of the essence."

~~~~oooo~~~~

John followed Melkus into the control room with his team falling in behind him. He ran his fingers over one console while Melkus pushed buttons on another. The first console was dead as far as John could sense. It also failed the white glove test. In fact, the whole outpost had a dusty, abandoned air to it, reinforcing John's speculation that the villagers didn't pass this way often.

A panel in the wall behind the console sputtered open, revealing a narrow flight of stairs leading downward. John flipped on the light on his P90 and peered into the gloom. From what he could see, the stairs led to a corridor that looked just like the ones on the lower levels of Atlantis. He descended the staircase, sweeping the darkness with the beam from his weapon at each step. It didn't hurt to be cautious even though they'd passed this way once before. As he reached the bottom, several of the wall lights flickered on. The low level of intermittent lighting cast eerie shadows on the walls. John startled when the door panel clanged shut behind Melkus.

As the team proceeded along the hallway, the Ancient illumination waxed and waned, the flickering glow never quite reaching full power. John dropped back beside McKay who was busy taking readings of some sort. "So, the ZPM just didn't keep going and going and going?"

"It's low but it should still be able to power this breadbox. Believe it or not, the lights and doors are working a bit better than they did. Maybe you managed a few repairs. But the chair problem is more than that."

John nodded. "Yeah. I've used the chair when the power was low in Atlantis. It never did…whatever this chair did."

McKay glanced at John. "Is this bringing back any memories for you?"

"No. I… No." For a moment, John had thought there might be something — a thought that tickled at the back of his mind. No. Not tickled. Scratched. Something sharp and… It was gone. He gripped the P90 tighter.

The corridor terminated in a typical Atlantean door. For all their scientific innovations, the Ancients seemed stuck on a one-size-fits-all approach to interior design. The door opened in a series of erratic moves. John hesitated before stepping through, scanning the room and eyeing the automatic door. "No other exits? What happens if there's a complete power failure?"

"I can switch it to open manually." McKay's response was quick and confident. "I know because I checked that out the last time."

John felt the muscles in his jaw tighten and twitch. He hated sounding as if he were one step behind everyone – even if he _was_ one step behind.

McKay tugged at the collar of his shirt as he followed John into the room. "Still doesn't help the fact that I feel like I'm in an underground tomb."

Ronon had an alternative solution. "If we get shut in here, I can always blast a hole in the door."

Melkus gasped. "It is an attitude such as yours that led to The Downfall."

"The Downfall?" Teyla queried. "Is that what is depicted in the paintings?"

"Yes, they are a reminder of the wrong path." Melkus ushered the team inside.

John saw McKay gulp as the door shut. Even John had to admit to a claustrophobic feeling about being closed in the subterranean room.

The chair room was just as much of a disappointment to John as the outpost itself. A standard issue control chair sat in a roughly eight hundred square foot room. There were a few control panels, an Ancient computer terminal and a couple of workbenches. That was it. Well, that and what might be the opening to a ventilation shaft.

John eyed the grating with suspicion. "No knock-out gas this time?"

Melkus paused in front of a workbench. "A most unfortunate necessity."

John narrowed his eyes, closing in on the man. "I don't suppose you know who was behind that do you?"

"It…it was the request of the Coalition. I thought you had been told that." He busied himself with placing his scanner and canvas satchel on the workbench, but his hands began to shake when John continued to stare at him. "I…I was merely was asked to prepare the chemical. It was quite harmless."

"Harmless?" McKay tossed various wires and clips from his pack onto one console. "I had a migraine for a week after that."

"Oh. Oh dear." Melkus frowned in consternation for a moment, and then his eyes lit up. He pulled out his scanner, extending it as he stepped toward McKay as though he were divining for water. "Are you also one of the Old Ones? When Kelore told me there were more who carried the blood of the Old Ones, I could hardly believe—"

John shoved the scanner aside with enough force to warn the man against further attempts to conduct a scan. "Watch him," he directed Ronon.

The healer fell silent.

McKay connected his laptop to the Ancient computer systems and set to work. He could make his laptop interface with any system almost as easily as John could interface with the chair. Speaking of which… John skirted around the chair, tipping his head to examine it from various angles.

"Don't you dare sit down," McKay called over his shoulder.

"I'm just looking." John backed away a few more feet. Maybe it was his imagination but he could feel…something. It was a bit like standing near power transmission lines. "This thing's off, right? Or, you know, on the usual sort of standby?"

"Why?" McKay's head shot up.

John shrugged. "Just asking." The tingling was gone. Maybe he had been imagining it.

John crossed back to Ronon and Teyla, eyeing the chair warily as he moved. "So, we're to evaluate the outpost's capacity for defense of the village and make repairs to the system?"

"_Judicious _repairs to the systems." Teyla turned her back to Melkus, keeping her voice low. "I believe Mr. Woolsey was using the words given to him by the IOA."

Ronon kept his eyes trained on Melkus as he, too, kept his voice low. "Meaning _we_ decide what's good for everyone else." The dark look on Ronon's face spoke volumes about his opinion on that policy.

"They've got a point." While John had never been enamored with the IOA's tendency to want to be included in as much as possible while doing as little as possible, he felt himself becoming defensive. "If the Latirans are developing increasing ties with the Genii, any technological advantage our repairs give the Latirans might fall into the hands of the Genii. It could be—"

"There are no Genii," Ronon cut in.

"What?" Yet another point John thought he might have missed. "The intelligence reports—"

"Were wrong," Ronon cut him off again.

John ran one hand over the back of his neck, feeling a headache starting to creep its way up to the base of his skull. "When did we find that out?"

"We didn't. I'm saying it now. There isn't a trace of Genii influence in the village."

"I get the distinct impression most of the villagers are shielded from outsiders," John noted. "Maybe they don't know about the association."

"Ronon is right," Teyla spoke up. "The Genii have not been here."

"We committed ourselves to participating in the Coalition, trying to get a step ahead of the Genii. We took on this mission as the first step in that commitment. And now you're telling me that Genii were never even here?"

"It was merely our assumption that the Genii were behind the trial," Teyla observed. "Perhaps the purpose of the trial was to enlist our cooperation for another reason. Our assumption may have merely been used to advantage."

"I still say they coulda just asked." John re-gripped his P90. Something was about to go wrong. Very wrong. He could feel it in his gut. He scanned the room again.

McKay was still at work on the computer. The chair still sat dormant. The healer opened a drawer on the workbench and began to remove several small vials. Ronon was beside the man in an instant, the muzzle of his blaster inches from the pale face.

"I must prepare the medicines. You do not understand…" Melkus's eyes darted from Ronon to the small bottles of powder. He stepped away from the bench abandoning his task. "You will regret this." He stated without threat.

"You got anything, McKay?" John headed to McKay's work area and paused for a minute, casually leaning against the wall to steady himself.

"I said before that most of the information was a duplication of what we know. But I found some files that might relate to the problems with the chair. They're gonna take a long time to go through. I hope we brought enough snacks. I'm also trying to access more of the records relating to the defense system.

"New plan. Just focus on restoring the gate." John felt the tingling, bugs-crawling-on-the-skin sensation again. "And look for any information on nearby planets with…with…" The room started to tilt. He put his hand on the console to catch himself.

"Get your hands away. Didn't I tell you not to touch anything? You… Sheppard? Are you okay?"

John might have said he was and tried to ride it out a bit, except that he was desperate to do anything it took to avoid a repeat of yesterday. "R-r-room's spinnin'." He dragged in a breath as the nausea reared its head, too. "Don' feel s' good."

McKay's head whipped around to view the other side of the room. "Teyla?"

Teyla was already partway across the room. But she stopped and spun around when the door shuddered and creaked.

The panel inched its way open, closing, and then opening again.

John shoved McKay behind the side panel of the console as Teyla took cover at the other, hoisting her P90. Ronon flattened himself against the wall beside the door, blaster ready for action. John staggered forward and dropped into a crouch behind one side of the chair, his weapon trained on the door.

A shower of sparks shot out of the circuitry beside the door as it retracted with a surge of energy.

Kelore stepped into the room.

It took a few seconds for the team to stand down.

Ronon returned his vigilance to Melkus and the vials of who knew what. McKay scrambled out from his bunker.

And John… John remained where he was. He couldn't move. His muscles had given up accepting commands from his brain. And the scratching was back, growing from fingernails playing across the surface of his mind to claws, digging into the grey matter, ripping, tearing, and gaining access to every corner. Then the memory of his experience in the chair came flooding back. _No! No! Stop! Oh, God, no!_

"John? John! Listen to me!" There was a sharp edge to Teyla's command as she crouched in front of him. "Let go of the chair."

"T…Tey…" John's jaw quivered with the effort of prying his teeth apart. "Sssssstop." The trembling spread to his entire body and still he was trapped, fused to the chair. More of a neural prison than a neural interface.

Teyla reached a hand towards him.

"Don't!" McKay yelled. "We don't know what that could do to Sheppard or to you."

Teyla's hand pulled back. "Rodney, we must do something, now!"

John didn't know if he screamed out loud or if it was just in his head. He screamed when the chair's interface worked its way into the grooves in his mind. He screamed when he took off. Flying. Flying so fast that the air friction caused his skin to ignite, burn and fall away in charred lumps. He flew so high that his lungs worked overtime, trying to suck in non-existent oxygen. He flew past trees, their spiked branches like shards of glass, ripping away muscles, and he smashed against jagged cliffs walls that shattered his bones. The wind shrieked in his ears, or maybe he was still screaming. When the ground rushed up to meet him, he welcomed it.

~~~~oooo~~~~

On to Chapter Two

~~~~oooo~~~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Terminal Velocity**

**Part Two**

There were very few times in John's life when he wanted to sleep the day away, when he hoped his slumber would relegate all that had happened to nothing more than a bad dream.

John tried to push away the agonizing pain, tried to banish the memory of being torn apart. But the flight from hell had entrenched itself in his mind. The claws had cut fissures in his grey matter and packed the wounds with replays of the torment. Every rerun shredded and mangled his body once again. The healer had been right the first day. It had been for the best not to remember. So, John devised a way to escape the madness of the memories. He slipped into a quiet, dark place within his mind where he could be untouched and undisturbed, where he could survive, until his team rescued him. And he knew they would. Even as he sat, keeping his mind separate, disconnected from his body, there were hands moving him, lifting him, cups of water pressed to his mouth, and healing powders pushed past his lips. And food. They wanted him to eat. Sometimes his muscles would obey their requests and he'd chew and swallow. But mostly he'd end up gagging and spitting it all back out. He endured it all while the rescue team dug him out.

The sun rose and set two, maybe three times. And then a voice filtered into his awareness.

"Oh, no! No, no, no, no, no. This is bad. Very bad. Crap! We're doomed."

Those words tugged at John in a way that hunger and thirst didn't. The message dragged him away from the cocoon in his mind. He felt an urge to…to do something. There was danger and… His team. He needed to know if they were in danger. He needed to make a plan. He… He pried open his eyelids and blinked away his blurred vision.

John felt a dip at the side of the bed as Ronon's dreadlocks swung into view.

"Hey, Sheppard. Thinkin' of joining us today?"

"R-R-R'on…" John coughed and drew in a few breaths that scraped like sandpaper over his raw throat.

Ronon eased John up off the pillows while Teyla tipped a cup of cool water to his mouth. He thought for a minute that he should try to hold the cup by himself, but he couldn't seem to figure out how to make his arms move.

"How are you feeling, John?" Teyla placed the remaining water at the bedside, concern etched into her face.

_Not so good,_ was what John thought. It was what he tried to say. But what came out was more like, "N-n-n…uh."

McKay's face appeared, hovering just behind Ronon's shoulder. "Good, you're awake. Look, I hate to rush you right now, but we've got a problem. A big one. I've been going through the data — and let me say that finding anything of relevance to the current situation was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Anyway, we're in trouble."

Teyla turned to McKay. "Rodney, I do not think that John—"

"Didn't I say 'big problem' and something about 'doom?'"

John made another attempt at moving. His limbs felt as if they were far away, as if they were much too far away for his brain to command. He couldn't quite find his way back into his body. Frustration and panic welled inside. Exhaling, he made a few garbled sounds, unable to form the words that were in his mind.

"Sheppard, you're going to have to do better than that," McKay badgered.

"Rodney!" Teyla gave him a stern look.

McKay was undeterred. "He's going to have to pull himself together…and fast."

Ronon stood up, his body language indicating he would escort McKay back to the laptop if need be. "Come up with something else."

"Genius that I am and all, I might be able to come up with something if I had, oh, say a few years to solve the problem, but I have three days."

Taking McKay's tendency to yield to pessimism and panic into account, John still recognized genuine fear in the man's voice. The need to look for his team pulled harder at his mind than the remembrance of the violation of his mind. He sucked in another painful, rasping lungful of air. "Wh-what…prob-lem?"

McKay stepped around Ronon and closed in on Sheppard. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out, his eyes widening as he looked at John. "Shit. You _really_ don't look good." He turned back to Teyla and Ronon, appearing to lose his certainty about pushing John into action.

Teyla pursed her lips for a moment, studying John. Then she sighed and nodded at McKay. She took Ronon's spot at John's side, checking his pulse again and adjusting the blankets.

"Okay. First of all, this outpost was built for defense," McKay began.

"Against Wraith?" Ronon quirked one eyebrow.

"No," McKay shook his head, "although it does that, too — when it's working, that is. But, no. This facility was designed for damage control. There was a mistake. A huge one. Project Arcturus was not the only weapon of its kind. There was another one. Here. In this solar system."

"_Was_ another one?" Ronon caught the implication.

"Yeah… Fools seldom differ and all that…"

McKay thrust out his chin with defiance, but John saw regret flash in his eyes.

"It…uh…it blew up." McKay scrubbed one hand over his face for a minute. "For a technologically advanced race that aspired to ascension, you'd think the Ancients would have had more interest in preventing others from repeating their mistakes than in hiding records that would tarnish their image," McKay complained. "This wasn't in the Atlantis database." Then he babbled on about the destructive effects of vacuum energy on solar systems.

John's body may have checked out, but his mind was flooding with questions now. Unfortunately, even imminent disaster wouldn't dissuade McKay from reveling in a captive audience for his scientific discourse. In a crisis, John wanted to hear the bottom line first. A fleet of Wraith ships on the way. A glacial melt. A rebel Genii faction.…whatever. He'd get the specific details that he needed after that. He hated having the information exchange play out before him as though he were watching a movie, waiting for the final climatic scene.

McKay was still on a roll. "So, with the destruction of the larger mass planets—"

John suddenly felt himself hurtling over the edge of a steep ravine. He gasped as his limbs jerked spasmodically for a second – sort of like the sensation of landing when he'd occasionally dreamt of falling, but ten, fifty, a hundred times more unpleasant.

"John?" Teyla placed a hand on his arm.

The tingling had started again. He could feel it flowing from his head to his extremities, burning its way along his nerves, leaving tracks of fiery pins and needles wherever it touched. "F-f-feeling's c-coming back." He moaned as his body curled in on itself. It hurt to move and it hurt not to move. His mind flashed back to the flight from hell. _God, no_! He couldn't let his mind go there. "G-go on," he urged McKay, wanting to use his friend's words as an anchor.

McKay stammered for a minute, unable to get his focus back as John writhed on the bed.

"So, doom…" Ronon prompted as he sat down beside Teyla, making sure John didn't injure himself as he tossed and turned.

"What? Okay. Ah…yes. The system lost the gravitational effects of those planets and…" McKay trailed off and stared at John. "Are you gonna be okay?"

Violent tremors ran through John's body, making a reply impossible. Not that he actually had an answer to that question.

Teyla responded on John's behalf, unable to hide the unsteadiness in her voice. "He is progressing just as Melkus described. We will continue giving him the medicine as instructed."

Teyla had avoided promising that he was going to be okay. John felt his heart stutter in his chest. He remembered being given some sort of powder in the last few days. They were letting Gandalf medicate him after all. The situation must have been desperate. _Crap._ John would have given anything to be in the infirmary on Atlantis at that moment.

McKay took a deep breath. "Okay. So the asteroid belt in the system along with the debris from the explosion began to drift. This planet, which was uninhabited at the time, would have been the first casualty of the fallout. But the Ancients thought it would be the perfect test ground for a new defense system and installed it here. That's what the outpost is. Before you ask, no, I have not figured out how this undersized post ever had that capability, but apparently it did — a planet-wide force field. 'Did' being the key word here because it doesn't now. In three days, this planet's orbit will take it back into the asteroid field and everything here will be wiped out."

The room was silent as the team absorbed the news.

McKay headed back to his computer. "So, yeah, doomed…"

~~~~oooo~~~~

John kept his focus on the immediate problem. The more he kept his attention on the task at hand, the more he was able to keep the remaining flashbacks down to the level of background noise.

McKay paced.

That was a bad sign, John knew, because it meant he'd given up on his security blanket of databases and calculations. He'd abandoned his scientific talismans and was seeking miraculous inspiration. Not that McKay hadn't pulled that off before, because he had. Many times. It was just…bad.

McKay paused and turned to John. "By the way, did I mention that being stuck here wasn't your fault?"

John shifted his hand, steadying himself as he sat, listing at a forty-five degree angle on the bed. "No, but thanks. I feel so much better now, knowing that."

McKay spluttered for a moment. "We are beyond screwed and you're wasting time with snarky remarks?"

"You work better when you're riled up. And besides, there's nothing else to do on this planet that's on my bucket list."

McKay paled.

With his free hand, John rubbed his eyes. "Just keep working. I'll deal with guilt later."

"You've interrupted my entire line of thinking on the initial sequence of events and the contributing variables." McKay tossed his hands in the air.

"How about just skipping to the final sequence of events?"

"Death?" McKay squeaked.

"No, the dramatic last-minute escape," John said with a wry twist of his mouth.

"Oh. Well, since you don't seem to have lost too many of your coulda-been-Mensa brain cells in this fiasco, how about _you_ work on the daring escape plan?"

"I'm thinking 'to hell with interplanetary relations.'" John gave a cavalier wave of his hand and then had to fight not to tip over. "We steal a jumper and hightail it out of here."

"The garage door's offline, too."

"We can blast a hole in it."

"And then what? Die drifting in space? There are no habitable planets near enough. We'll last maybe two weeks in a jumper and the Daedalus still won't be here." McKay's voice was rising, bordering on panic.

"We could land on this planet again."

"Which will not be compatible with life by then."

"So we have to get the gate online." John clenched his teeth, finding McKay's rebuttals hard to tolerate, even if he was right.

"Which can only be done from the chair and it's not working."

"Well, repair the goddamn chair then!" John snapped.

"You're the only one who can do that. The system will only respond to your input now." McKay fixed his stare on John.

John didn't back down. The two locked eyes. But neither of them had the time or the energy to waste on the standoff.

"Fine. There's the plan then." John forced a more reasonable tone into his voice. "Teyla and Ronon will be back from the village any minute now. We pack up our gear, head to the outpost and stay there until it's fixed. Then we get outta here."

"Yeah…" McKay appeared to deflate.

"We _are_ going to fix this."

"Have you ever, you know, considered there might be a time when we just can't pull it off?" McKay twisted his fingers together.

"No. Never."

"Huh. And people say I'm arrogant."

John smiled.

~~~~oooo~~~~

The team ate with haste, knowing the clock was ticking.

John had to force himself to swallow each bite. Every time he thought of the task ahead, he had to clamp his teeth together and fight against the urge to gag. He would have skipped lunch altogether except that he knew he needed to eat in order to get through the next couple of hours…maybe days. He hoped not.

After lunch, the team packed with efficiency, preparing to head to the outpost. Melkus had drawn his cart up near their accommodation. John was relieved about that. If the man hadn't done that, John's other choices were to admit out loud that he couldn't make it to the edge of town, or use up what little energy he had left — energy that might be needed for the task ahead — to pretend he _could_ make it. Both options sucked. John suspected his team would handle his admission of weakness better than he would handle hearing himself say the words.

Once in the back of the wagon, John collapsed on the floor. He thought about trying to sit up, but even thinking about that sapped him. Conservation was his best strategy. He closed his eyes, avoiding the looks he knew passed among his teammates in the ensuing silence. Teyla crawled over beside John and pulled his head onto her lap, protecting it from jarring against the blanketed floor.

Predictably, the ride did nothing for the dizziness already plaguing John. Neither did McKay's moaning that he was going to be sick. John heard Ronon threaten to stun McKay if he said that one more time. McKay begged Ronon to stun him right away and put him out of his misery for the trip. John thought it might not be such a bad idea.

The closer they got to the facility, the harder it become to suppress flashes of the sensation of his muscles ripping apart. He tried to draw in deep breaths of fresh air to reassure himself that he couldn't actually smell his own flesh burning. Groaning, John curled up tighter, unable to stop shaking, feeling chilled despite the warmth of the sun overhead. He felt Teyla pull some of the blankets around him.

John thought back to all the times he'd been in pain or felt ill, but tried to talk Carson or Keller into letting him leave the infirmary. He'd always been convinced he'd feel better once he got back to his quarters or got back to work. That had turned out not to be the case when he rescued Teyla from Michael's ship. But it was still what had to be done. He'd always do what had to be done.

Now that John thought about it, maybe the healer's mélange fell into the category of something that had to be done. He'd refused the stuff at lunch. In spite of the earlier errors in dosage, he suspected the medicine actually worked to a degree. But it seemed odd that there should be a specific treatment for the effects of an Ancient malfunction.

The journey through the outpost to the chair room was almost as much of a challenge as the wagon ride. John tried to convince himself he was walking with assistance from Ronon and McKay. He was pretty sure that if his friends were asked, they would have said they dragged him through the hallway.

When they got to the chair room, McKay grabbed some duct tape from his pack and marked out a square on the floor against the wall near the door.

"Sheppard, sit there." McKay pointed to the designated area. "Ronon, if he moves so much as an inch outside that square without my say-so, stun him."

"Okay." Ronon fingered his weapon.

"Excuse me?" John managed to inject a faint note of indignation into his voice. "The last time I looked, _I_ was the team leader."

"The last time _I_ looked, you still looked like crap," McKay retorted. "And the last time you were here, you couldn't keep your hands off the chair. So…"

McKay had a point.

Melkus placed a worn canvas satchel on a workbench and began setting up his apothecary. He pulled out various vials, dishes and instruments for measuring.

McKay glanced at the healer as he headed over to set up his own workstation. "Your wing-of-bat and eye-of-toad don't seem to be doing any good."

"I have neither of those ingredients," Melkus stated without pausing.

McKay pressed on. "It doesn't require sophisticated technology to see that Sheppard isn't cured. And we are going to need him working at full-capacity."

Melkus stopped then and turned around. "I do not believe I said this would cure him. It will merely maintain him."

Teyla's eyebrows arched. "Maintain?"

"Yes, until the task is done."

"And then what is to happen?" Teyla persisted.

"Maintenance will no longer be required."

"What does that mean?" Ronon loomed over the concoctions looking as though he thought they might explode at any minute.

"Your Sheppard will no longer be taxed by the chair."

"Are you certain there is no one else here with knowledge of the Ancestor technology?" Teyla inquired. "One who might assist us in conducting the repairs?"

Melkus lifted his head, studying John for a moment, and then he added a pinch of an orange powder to his compound. "Only the Guardian of Latira knows of the technology of the Old Ones. But had he been able to carry out the necessary repairs, he would not have invited you here."

"Who's the Guardian?" Ronon demanded.

Melkus paused in his activity and turned to the team, looking flustered for a moment. "Kelore is our current Guardian. I thought that was clear."

"No, that wasn't made clear." John was pleased that his voice sounded a little steadier than he felt — steadier in comparison to the way he was sitting slumped against the wall. "It seems that there are a lot of things about this mission that weren't made clear."

"The Guardian invited you here to examine our defense system and make repairs. What is not clear about that?"

"You said you'd had other travelers here before, right?"

"Yes. Two in my memory, but there were others before that."

"What happened to them?" Even as he asked the question, John had the feeling he didn't want to hear the answer.

"They completed the necessary adjustments."

"And then?"

"They were weakened as you are. But the knowledge of ministering to the Old Ones has always been passed down through the healers as it has to me."

"See now, this weakening of the Old Ones, was one of the things that wasn't made clear."

"Kelore evaluated your suitability for the task. You would have to speak to him about that."

"My suitability? What do you mean my suitability? Where is Kelore?"

"He will meet with us again shortly. Save your questions. Now, I must concentrate." Melkus turned back to his work.

McKay also set to work, pulling enough of an assortment of wires and clips and grey metal tools out of his backpack that John was reminded of Mary Poppins.

John wrapped his arms around his stomach when it started to churn again. He took slow, deep breaths, willing the nausea and dizziness to subside. He suspected he had zoned out for a few minutes, because he realized Teyla was crouched in front of him, offering him the medicine he had turned down at lunch. The thought of ingesting anything at the moment made his stomach cramp. "Gimme a couple of minutes."

Teyla placed a hand on his forehead. "John, you need—"

"I'll take it…in a few minutes. I don't think it's gonna stay down right now."

John wasn't sure what happened after that. The next thing he knew, he was resting with his head on Ronon's shoulder and Teyla was assisting McKay with some of the equipment. The room felt hot and airless and it appeared to be tipping to one side. The nausea hadn't abated one bit. If anything, it was worse. John thought he should have tried to force down medication earlier. "Ronon?"

"What's up?"

"I need some fresh air." As John pushed himself upward, Ronon grabbed his arm. John had the impression that Ronon didn't know whether to haul him to his feet or push him back to the floor.

At that moment, the door began its erratic process of opening. John fumbled for his sidearm but couldn't coordinate his fingers to unholster it. Ronon had him covered, shielding him with his body.

"It will be Kelore." Melkus waved at the team's weapons which were now trained on the door.

No one lowered their guns.

Kelore entered, looking paler and more aged than the last time. Tremors wracked his body.

"Are you sure he isn't contagious?" McKay was the first to drop his guard as he fumbled in his backpack for the hand sanitizer. "He looks like death warmed over."

John didn't hear the answer. He'd broken out in a cold sweat, trying to fight the surge of bile at the back of his throat. He still wanted fresh air. At the very least, he wanted to cut down on the number of spectators if he threw up. When his stomach clenched again, John staggered past Kelore and out into the corridor.

"Sheppard!" Ronon was close on his friend's heels.

"Dammit! I said not to let him move," McKay shouted.

Anything else McKay might have had to say was lost as the door slammed shut. John fell to his knees, retching. He felt Ronon's hands on his shoulders, steadying him. In between bouts of sickness, John was vaguely aware of hearing pounding noises and muffled voices on the other side of the chair room door. By the time his gut had quieted down to occasional dry heaves and hiccups, there was silence beyond the door.

Ronon guided John down to a cleaner portion of the hallway and lowered him to the floor. Then he vaporized the mess with his blaster.

The air in the corridor _was_ fresher and cooler. John's stomach settled. Then he started to shiver.

Ronon stood over John. "I'd give you my jacket, but I left it in the room."

"'S'okay." John waved his hand weakly. "Gotta get back in there. I have a little inquisition of my own to conduct with Kelore. Help me up."

Ronon pulled John to his feet and led him back down the hall. "It _is_ kinda cold out here."

"Yeah. R-really cold." John's teeth started to chatter. He palmed the door controls. Once. Twice. On the third try, the door opened. "What the hell…?"

McKay, Teyla, Melkus and Kelore were gone. The equipment and the chair were gone. But what stood there instead was an even greater shock.

~~~~oooo~~~~

It only took a few seconds after the door had opened before areas of exposed flesh stung with the cold. John had spent enough time in the Antarctic to estimate it was more than thirty degrees below zero. If he and Ronon stepped into the room and the door shut… There was no movement in the room, no immediate sign of McKay or Teyla. He palmed the controls, closing the room off.

John leaned against the wall in the hallway for a minute, his mind reeling. The new room had been more like a corridor, stretching far into the distance. The walls to the right and left of the door were lined with stasis chambers. Most of the ones John had glimpsed were empty. But the ones that were not held humans in various states of decay. Terror-filled eyes bulged from sightless sockets; gaping mouths twisted in a rictus of death. Stasis gone awry. John wondered how long their slowed metabolic processes had allowed them to suffer before they died. John squeezed his eyes shut against the afterimage of the smaller ones… To be trapped like that, awake… He blinked, struggling to pull his thoughts together, not sure what to do next.

"Sheppard!" Ronon was pulling on John's arm. "Move it!"

John looked at his teammate, startled to see the blue tinge to his face and lips and ice crystals forming around his mouth.

Ronon jerked his head towards the far end of the hall. "Come on." Stumbling every few steps he tugged John towards the stairs and pushed him up in front of him.

John palmed the controls to access the control room. "D-dammmit." His voice shook and the moisture from his breath froze in the air. He tried to pry the control panel open but his fingers, still bandaged and now rigid from the cold, couldn't even curl around the edges. In desperation, he pounded it with his palms. When his legs couldn't hold out any longer, he dropped to the stairs, feeling the sharp edges smack against his spine.

Ronon blasted the door, the energy from his weapon crackling in arcs across the unyielding panel. Ronon thudded to the floor a few seconds after John, but he kept firing. The hot metal door now offered some warmth even if it didn't open.

John pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, trying to conserve heat. He didn't think it would buy much time, but every second he hung on was always one more second of opportunity for a rescue.

Time passed. A few seconds, a minute maybe. It was hard to think. John didn't feel the cold quite so intensely, but that wasn't necessarily a good sign. Maybe he was beyond feeling the cold...

Ronon stopped firing. He blew out a deep breath experimentally. John noted that the vapor cloud no longer crystallized around his friend's face. Ronon closed his eyes, breathing heavily. Then he struggled to pull himself semi-upright and ready his weapon once again as the door at the far end of the hall began to open.

John sagged with relief, seeing Teyla and McKay burst through the opening.

"Where the hell have you two been?" McKay demanded, the panic in his voice unmistakable. "You left us locked in that little room. I had to override the control panel."

Teyla sprinted along the hall, reaching John and Ronon first. She asked questions, her touch firm and gentle as she examined them, but John couldn't figure out what she was asking. McKay palmed the door hatch open, rushing out as Teyla shouted instructions to bring blankets from the cart.

John felt himself being shifted to the control room… Then he and Ronon were outside in the warm sun… And then…nothing.

~~~~oooo~~~~

John woke up outside the facility in time to see the last few warm rays of the day's sun. He wasn't exactly sure what had happened, but he _was_ sure he'd woken up wondering what had happened more than enough to last him a lifetime of missions.

He felt Teyla's strong grip on his arm, supporting him as he pushed himself upwards. The dizziness and nausea were mercifully gone. John suspected the healer had been at work again.

John spotted Ronon tending to a roaring campfire. "Hey."

"I'm okay," Ronon responded before John even spoke the question aloud.

John nodded and stretched his hands closer to the warmth of the flames, hoping no one noticed the tremors in his arms.

McKay sat on a boulder, hunched over the world on his laptop screen. Lifting his head, he glanced over his shoulder at Kelore who was watching him with interest. "Could you defrost someplace else? I can't work with someone looking over my shoulder."

"Can you fix the stasis room?" Kelore asked, sinking to sit on a grassy patch.

"Do I look like the refrigerator repairman to you? I have bigger things to attend to — like saving your entire planet, which by the way, doesn't seem to have much worth saving." McKay glanced at the squat tower, shaking his head. "Well, besides our lives, that is."

John sipped at the canteen of water Teyla handed to him, resisting the urge to quench his thirst with deep draughts. "So, where were we?" he asked, his casual drawl masking his cat-about-to-pounce-on-a-mouse mindset. "Oh, right. We were speaking of things that weren't entirely clear about this mission." John threw a pointed look at Melkus, and then turned to his team. "Did anyone bring marshmallows 'cause I was thinking the story behind the stasis chambers would make a nice campfire tale."

Kelore huffed. "I apologize. I did not intend for you to encounter the stasis chambers."

John waited a minute. "That's it? I was hoping for a longer story."

Kelore tightened his lips for a moment. "You need not concern yourself with the activities of the Latiran people beyond repairs to our systems."

John quit toying with Kelore and narrowed his eyes. "Now see, I thought playing a greater role in the day-to-day affairs of the Pegasus Galaxy was _exactly_ why we were here."

"Your provision of the needed assistance is appreciated. Nothing more is required."

"What do we get out of it then?" John challenged.

"I do not believe Mr. Woolsey's offer specified that you 'get something out of it.'"

"We do not require repayment," Teyla interjected as she assembled provisions for the evening meal. "But it is customary for us to become better acquainted with the life circumstances of our friends and allies."

"And a tiny bit of technology would also be appreciated," McKay added.

Ronon sat down beside John as Teyla handed out the dinner MREs. "McKay already figured out how we got to the stasis room." There was a note of pride in Ronon's voice.

McKay looked downright smug about it. "Now, that part is pretty cool." McKay ripped open his MRE and dug in, as only he could, to dinner in a foil pouch. "I went over the readings I took yesterday. It's not a hallway. It's a really, really big transporter."

John looked around the barren field surrounding the outpost. "So there's more underground? Like on that other planet…uh…"

"The one where that woman had the hots for you?" McKay supplied.

"That could be any number of planets," John retorted.

"Funny." McKay pulled up another set of data on his computer. "No, I don't think there's anything else here in this area."

"Very well." Kelore spoke as though the words were being dragged out of him. "There is another outpost on the planet."

"There isn't by any chance a second gate?" John asked.

Kelore eyed the contents of the pouch Teyla had distributed to him. "No. But you do not need to worry about the gate. It will function again once you complete the repairs to the system."

"If you're not going to eat that, I will," McKay offered, pointing to Kelore's MRE. Then he turned to John. "Remember I said the gate wasn't your fault? I found out that using the chair automatically triggers the shutdown. It's preprogrammed."

"So, we're prisoners again? Is that it?" John's voice was tight with anger.

Kelore chewed a small portion of his MRE and then twisted his mouth as though he'd swallowed a bug. "There is much at stake. You would do best to get on with the work and repair the shield system."

"Don't tell me what _I_should be doing." John stabbed at the air with his the fork. "In fact, why don't you tell me what _you're_ going to be doing."

"I am not able to do anything."

Melkus bobbed his head. "I did say that."

"You say far too much," Kelore snapped.

"Exactly why _are_ you here?" John asked, resuming his line of inquiry.

Kelore sat in silence for a minute and then sighed. "I am a scientist. My people, 'Old Ones' as they are called here, were all scientists. Scientific research and development can take a great number of years. Scientists often do not see the fruits of their own labors. We constructed a stasis system that would allow scientists to make periodic observations, living out their lives in prescribed blocks of time over hundreds, even thousands of years. Unfortunately, our system failed. I am the last scientist."

"You're one of the Ancients?" McKay gaped. "One of the original scientists?"

"I am one of their descendants. As I said, they lived out their lives, normal lives, including…procreation. Life was merely lived in discrete intervals."

Teyla's eyes widened. "Even the offspring used the stasis chambers?"

John ground the heels of his hands against his eyes in a futile attempt to erase the memory of the smaller figures in the failed chambers.

"Why do you need our help to fix your own system?" McKay asked.

"That was not the area of study for which I was trained."

"And that area was…" McKay prompted.

John held up one hand. "Wait a minute, if you're the only one left, why not just save the data and take it with you when you leave the planet. You could have asked us to assist in the evacuation of the people."

Kelore shook his head. "There are too many people."

John glanced in the direction of the village. "We've evacuated villages of this size."

"There are other villages."

"How many?"

"Several. I do not know the exact number at the moment."

John gritted his teeth in frustration. "How many…_approximately_?"

Kelore took even longer to reply to that question. "There are three million inhabitants on this world."

"Three mill…" John needed a minute to reframe his thinking.

"The shield has served well to conceal the existence of the colonies. Our scientists took in refugees from a great many cullings over the years. They are widely dispersed, unknown even to one another."

"That hardly seems like the typical Ancient endeavor." John said, working to swallow another mouthful of beef-whatever. "Their scientific innovations kinda overshadowed their charity work, I guess."

"Just a minute." McKay crumpled up his foil pouch and pushed his garbage into Teyla's hand. "If the people are 'widely dispersed' you must have transported them around the planet when they arrived. So, _approximately_ how many outposts are there?"

"Several hundred." Kelore pulled himself to his feet, his movements looking arthritic and painful. "But we are wasting valuable time here."

John got up on his knees, resting there for a minute before standing. "What if we can't fix this?"

"Do not worry. I have evaluated your suitability. You _can_ fix it."

John stood up and staggered to the side. Ronon grabbed him, but John shrugged him off. "I got it." He fixed Kelore with a hard stare. "We need to talk about this evaluation and my 'suitability.'"

"And anything you might know about how to repair the system would be nice," McKay added. "Not that I couldn't figure it out all by myself, but, you know, asteroids on the way and all."

All eyes turned skyward at that, sweeping the starry night sky. One of the three days was over.

~~~~oooo~~~~

On to Chapter Three

~~~~oooo~~~~


	3. Chapter 3

**Terminal Velocity**

**Part Three****  
**

"Dammit!" McKay tossed a handful of wires and clips to the ground.

The exclamation tore John from his sleep. He raised his arm, checking his watch. Two a.m. "McKay," he hissed, not wanting to wake Teyla. "I thought I told you to get some sleep." He turned to Ronon. "And I thought I told you to make sure he did."

Ronon shrugged. "I made him lie down for an hour. Didn't sleep, though."

John watched McKay, noting the quick, jerky motions as he fumbled with crystals behind the control chair. He raised his eyebrows. "Too much Latiran sludge?"

"I had a couple of cups…large cups…or maybe it was three cups…or four." McKay laughed a little manically.

John pushed himself into a sitting position against the wall, massaging the back of his neck with one hand, feeling the unyielding tension in the muscles and tendons. Pain crept up over the back of his skull and burrowed through his brain.

"Here." Ronon handed him a canteen.

John nodded and accepted the container. The sips of water helped ease the sensation of his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. It took all the willpower he had not to give in to thirst and gulp the liquid down. He knew he was dehydrated, but his stomach wasn't happy with very much in it. John waited for the little he'd drank to settle before trying again.

Teyla stirred and looked John over. "You are feeling unwell again." It wasn't a question. She sat up and handed a small vial to John. "The healer said to take this if you awaken."

Knowing it hadn't worked out so well the last time he'd skipped a dose, John emptied the bitter mixture onto his tongue then he washed it down with another cautious sip. He let his hands fall to his sides as Teyla took back the vial and Ronon removed and recapped the canteen.

McKay scurried over and joined his team. "Okay, I've figured out how the shield works." He dropped down on the floor beside them, talking rapidly. "Each of the outposts generates a shield. The shields overlap and reinforce one another." He grabbed some of the blankets they had brought in from the cart and spread them out on the floor with portions overlapping. "See, this area is several layers thick," he said, pointing at the blankets.

"McKay, I feel crappy. So, I have even less appreciation than usual for the dumbed-down version." John drew his legs up and folded his arms over his knees. It was an effort to hold his head up instead of letting it fall forward onto his forearms as he listened to McKay.

Ronon cast a quick glance at the flickering lights. "Do they have enough power for the shield?"

"This outpost doesn't require a lot of power. There's enough for this facility and its shield. The data indicates that in some cases, several outposts share one power supply, but making sure the power flows through the entire system… With so many posts, there's just so much to check… There's not enough time and a loss of even one shield…" McKay ran his fingers through his hair, making himself look even more frazzled and jittery. "Sheppard, I need you to make a few adjustments at the console over there because while it will let me browse all I want, it will only accept commands from you." McKay's huff made it obvious that he was offended by the selectivity.

John didn't move.

McKay frowned, "Sheppard?"

"'Kay…" John sighed softly and began the arduous climb to a standing position. Once he got there, the room tilted sharply. The resulting effect caused John to stagger sideways, smacking his shoulder against the wall.

Ronon was on his feet a second later, holding onto John. "I keep tellin' you that you don't have to do everything by yourself. I've got you. Take your time."

"Nice sentiment and all," McKay groused, "but time is something we don't have."

"I am certain that John is aware of the need for haste," Teyla placated as the two men slowly made their way to the console.

McKay rattled off a lengthy set of instructions while John stared at the display, trying to grasp the meaning behind his teammate's words. John had just worked his way through the first sentence when he became aware that McKay had stopped talking.

McKay shifted from one foot to the other. "Anytime now would be good."

"I believe it would be faster in the long run if you provided the instructions at a rate more suited to someone who is ill," Teyla advised.

"Uh… Yeah…" McKay began reciting the instructions again, the higher pitch to his words conveying the urgency in spite of the decreased rate.

John figured he had to be looking as bad as he felt for McKay not to make any sort of snarky remark about having to repeat the directions. John swiped at his eyes with one hand as fatigue and dizziness blurred the display in front of him. He drew in a shaky breath and placed his hand down. _Crap._ The surface under his palm told him he'd missed the button he'd been aiming for. "S-s-sorry."

"Move aside, Conan," McKay directed his teammate. "I'll…uh…I'll help him."

John felt Ronon and McKay switch positions. He grabbed the panel, bracing himself against the sway of the room. McKay just wasn't as solid at holding him up.

"Okay…um…" McKay picked up John's hand using his thumb and middle finger, making the least contact possible. "We should carry latex gloves," he mumbled as he placed John's hand on the first button. "I'm pretty sure this can't do anything to you the way the chair did. So, just think 'on' — not power-surge fry-the-circuits 'on,' just ease it on."

The panel began to glow.

"Good. That's good. And by the way you still owe me some replacement Ancient gadgets in my lab, because thinking 'let 'er rip' was _not_ the way to go."

John blew out a small shaky breath — the closest thing he could approximate to a sound of amusement.

McKay's grasp tightened around John's hand. "We can do this."

"Yeah."

"Okay, now you're going to have to press two more buttons and think about calling up the diagrams I specify…"

~~~~oooo~~~~

Using the blankets from the cart, Teyla prepared a spot on the floor at the side of the workbench for John. John figured it must have been obvious he wasn't going to be able to go back and forth across the room every time McKay needed him to flip a switch. He hated appearing weak enough that his team had to waste time looking out for him, but he didn't have the energy to protest, and he knew that their survival might depend on allowing them to help him through. Ultimately, John's choices always boiled down to survival and safety for his team.

John's entire body buckled the second he finished working at the console. He let McKay and Ronon ease him down to the floor. He didn't really have much choice about that. Hoping to maintain some semblance of control, he tried to force himself to sit rather than lie down. But the exertion of working had robbed him of what little relief the medication had brought him from the queasiness and vertigo. John ended up slumped sideways, breathing heavily. Feeling McKay's eyes on him, he tilted his head up.

McKay scrubbed his face with shaky hands. "I'd…um…I'd better get back to work because you don't even look like you're going to last until the asteroids get here…or more technically until we reach the asteroids…" He bit his lip, frowning as he looked at John, then got up and went back to his tasks.

Abandoning his plan to stay upright, John curled up on the blankets, drifting for a while, and then slid into a restless sleep. He dreamed of the chair, sucking the life out of him like a Wraith. The arms of the chair coiled into claws, one pressing on his chest, the other raking through his skull. He woke with a hoarse cry.

"S'rry," he gasped between ragged breaths.

"Nothin' to apologize for," Ronon murmured, placing a hand on John's shoulder.

Melkus, awakened by John's shout, hurried over and knelt by his patient. "I have made some adjustments to the medication." He produced another vial then reached out to assist John in sitting up to drinking the mixture.

"Thank you," said Teyla, smoothly removing the potion from Melkus and stepping between him and John.

The healer backed away.

John was grateful. As much as he hated to be the weak link on his team, he hated having strangers care for him even more. John pulled away though when Teyla offered to help him lie down again. "Need t'…sit." The dizziness and nausea were back in full force. John figured he'd have a better chance of keeping the water and powder down by letting gravity do some of the work. And if that plan failed…well, he'd still be better off sitting up.

John wondered at exactly what point he'd lost control over the mission to the extent that his planning centered on how best not to throw up. Hell, he'd maintained more control over missions when he was trapped on a hive ship.

He felt Ronon shift over to sit beside him, keeping him propped up. John raised a leaden arm and stared at his watch as it swam before his eyes.

"It's four a.m.," Ronon supplied.

"Wake me…in one hour." John hoped by then the medication would have kicked in. But whether it had or not, it was time for him to get this mission under control. As he fell into a restless slumber, the pounding headache masked the scratching sensation at the back of his mind.

~~~~oooo~~~~

The medication worked. John's headache dropped from a 'nine' to an 'eight' on a scale of one to ten, he didn't feel as if his stomach was about to turn inside out — at least not within the next five minutes, and the room wasn't spinning any more than the 'Dumbo the Flying Elephant' ride. Sure, there was still room for improvement, but John always went with what he had rather than with what he didn't.

Reconnaissance was a good place to start. John could gather a few more facts without even having to stand up – make use of what he could do.

John studied Kelore for a minute. "You're a descendent of the Ancients. Why can't you operate the equipment?"

Kelore's face took on a look John recognized. It was the one McKay wore anytime he was confronted with the fact that his synthetic ATA was not as strong as John's natural expression of the gene.

"Is this how you work?" Kelore's lip curled. "Is it really necessary to pry into these details?"

"I'll know better once I _have_ the details," John snapped. He took a deep breath. He needed to start by getting control of himself first. "I'm just trying to gather every scrap of information that I can. Assessing the situation first _is_ how I work."

Kelore appeared to consider the words and then began. "Although a few of our scientists specialized in technology, most of the team conducted research in areas similar to what you would call sociology and psychology."

McKay spluttered out a mouthful of breakfast sludge. "Who'd have thought? Ancient voodoo."

"The various social groupings taken in from the cullings, along with the many types of terrain, natural resources and climatic conditions on this planet allowed for a wealth of observational studies on human populations."

John's hand clenched into tight fists. "So the refugees became the lab rats?" He immediately regretted the volume of his words which upped the headache to an eight-point-five.

"It was mutually beneficial," Kelore defended with an icy stare. "Initially we stayed apart from the inhabitants of this world as much as possible, not wanting to contaminate the studies. However, over time, there was …a mixing of the gene pool with one of the more advanced groupings."

"Ha!" McKay declared. "You don't have the gene, do you?"

John scowled at McKay. "That's not a factor in our favor at the moment."

"Oh… But if there was a…ah…mixing of the populations," McKay swirled his hands around in the air almost knocking over his mug of Latiran brew, "there are others with the Ancient gene."

Kelore shook his head. "My people tried to offer knowledge and technology, to use their gifts for the betterment of the population."

"Betterment?" Teyla arched her eyebrows.

Kelore didn't acknowledge her remark. "There was much envy and distrust…"

"But not quite so much that they didn't 'mix,'" McKay pointed out, making quotation marks in the air.

Teyla quietly removed the rest of McKay's coffee-substitute.

Kelore continued. "Those with the blood of the Ancestors came to be viewed with hostility and suspicion. Following a period of great violence and persecution, my people were forced to choose between withdrawing, and using greater force in self-defense. They withdrew, taking all offspring with them, including those mixed ancestry."

"That period of violence would be The Downfall depicted in the paintings upstairs," Teyla commented.

"Yes." The healer nodded. "They are a reminder that the people must be allowed to follow their own path."

"Since that time," Kelore added, "we have always appointed a Guardian to ensure that the people of this world are allowed to develop undisturbed by outside influences as much as possible. However, in response to the failing systems, I have been forced to seek outside resources to protect the lives of the Latirans."

"You refer only to the Ancestors as 'your people,'" Teyla addressed Kelore again, "but you are also of Latiran descent, too, are you not?" Teyla asked.

"The Latiran association was many generations ago. I had no contact with the Latirans until I assumed the position of their Guardian."

"It must be difficult," Teyla commented, "to belong to two worlds and yet be set apart from both."

For a moment, Kelore faltered. "I may yet have to live among the Latirans… When this is over…"

"Perhaps now is the time for the Latiran people to assume a greater role in the outside world, too. They will be in need of someone who is able to guide them." Teyla began clearing away the remains of breakfast, frowning in concern over John's uneaten meal.

"No offense, but we haven't typically found the Ancient people quite so…charitable," John said with a wry twist to his mouth. The twist turned into a grimace when another wave of dizziness washed over him. The effect of the medication was losing both strength and duration for John. He took a deep breath and pressed on. "Taking in survivors, appointing Guardians… It doesn't seem to fit." John blinked as his vision started to blur.

"There were a few for whom a strong sense of responsibility towards others predominated," Kelore explained. "There were those who even felt the need to atone for the mistakes of past generations, for the sequence of events leading to the creation of the Wraith and for the existence of the Replicators. Surely you understand this. My assessment indicated that you, of all people who carry the blood of the ancestors, know of this trait."

John wanted to ask about this assessment, about his 'suitability,' but he'd lasted as long as he could. He wasn't quite sure if he flopped towards the floor, or if the floor rose to meet him. In any case, he couldn't get up again and the room faded away in haze of pain and vertigo.

~~~~oooo~~~~

John was relieved to find that the drugs had eventually notched his headache back to a 'seven.'

"Hey." A pair of leather boots moved into view in front of John's face.

"Ronon…"

"Sure you don't want any lunch?"

"'M sure." John turned his head minutely. He was glad his team had chosen to eat on the other side of the room. Even from that distance the odor wasn't doing him any good.

Ronon slid down beside him. "You still have to drink."

"I know." John sat up with Ronon's assistance and took two swallows from the canteen before shoving it away.

Ronon picked up the canteen and held it close to John's face. For a moment, John thought Ronon was going to force him to drink the water. Instead, Ronon leaned in closer and spoke so low it was almost inaudible.

"With the stuff you did this morning, McKay's managed to open the door to the room above the gate. I'm gonna go have a look."

John faked taking another sip of the water. "I'm going, too."

"Knew you'd say that." Ronon's grin was overshadowed by the worry in his eyes as he hauled John to his feet.

"Gonna go water the plants," Ronon announced.

"The trees," McKay corrected, rolling his eyes.

"I do not think…" Melkus began. "Oh. I see." He cast his eyes around the room. "Perhaps, given the circumstances, we should locate a container of some sort…"

"No," John and Ronon answered at the same time.

Even if the trees hadn't just been a cover story, there was no way John was going with that plan. Besides, dehydration had taken care of that problem.

~~~~oooo~~~~

The trip down the hall and up the stairs didn't go as well as John had hoped and he hadn't hoped for all that much. His legs were shaking violently and the motion had triggered two rounds of painful, dry heaving.

Ronon deposited John in a chair in the main control room. "You gonna make it upstairs?"

John leaned forward clutching at his ribcage as he sucked in air. He tried to give Ronon his best 'you really need to ask?' look, but wasn't sure he'd pulled it off.

Ronon pulled out a walkie talkie. "McKay said to click once to let him know we're ready." He depressed a button.

A second panel creaked its way open, revealing a stairwell that looked much the same as the one leading down. Even with Ronon's support, John pretty much crawled up the stairs to palm the controls at the top.

The light from John's P90 made shaky arcs in the air as the door opened into a dark room. There were no jumpers immediately apparent, but that didn't mean there might not be a cloaked jumper. John and Ronon inched their way forward, feeling the air in front of their hands.

John stopped at a small dark shape on the floor and dropped down to examine it. He held it up to Ronon. "Is this what I think it is?"

Ronon looked at the metal fragment. "Yeah. Looks like it's from a jumper."

A wave of dizziness had John suddenly sitting on the floor slumped forward, locking his elbows as he used his arms to force himself upright. After a minute, he began creeping forward on his hands and knees, studying other bits of debris on the floor. There were small scraps of charred metal, a DHD button, a piece that might have been a portion of a jumper ramp… The room reminded John of an airplane crash investigation scene…

John's heart rate soared. He clutched at the sides of his head, fighting the sudden spike in pain. He could feel himself burning… He… _No!_ He fought back against the flashback.

"Sheppard? Sheppard! Sheppard, look at me! Sheppard!"

John felt himself being pulled to his feet and steered away from the detritus. He was less aware of being almost dragged from the room. He lost consciousness as he was carried back to the ground floor.

~~~~oooo~~~~

John sat propped against a boulder, waiting. Either the medicine would kick in any minute or his stomach would forcibly eject it. He was rooting for the medicine to win out, but if he had to put money on it, he'd bet on his stomach. He couldn't remember ever feeling so utterly sick and miserable on a mission. He couldn't ever remember feeling this trapped both by circumstances and by his own body. The incident in the Genii prison came close though.

"I had understood your methods to be unorthodox at times, but this subterfuge is intolerable." Despite his weakness, Kelore managed to get his indignation across.

"Our methods are intolerable?" McKay squeaked. "You lured us here under false pretenses—"

"Your incorrect assumptions were not my doing," Kelore answered smoothly. "And the inquiry was necessary to determine suitability for the task."

"…and we're virtually prisoners, facing almost certain death."

"The decision to retain volunteers until a task is complete was also not my doing. It is another unfortunate necessity to ensure survival for the Latirans. As I have said, the gate will become available once the tasks are completed, and they _will_ be completed."

"It appears that I know much more about these systems than you do and I'm thinking not," McKay retorted.

"Your input may prove useful for smaller repairs such as the stasis chambers. However, you are wasting your time on the shields. It is Colonel Sheppard's work that is required. You cannot be expecting to repair such a sophisticated defense system as ours."

"Well, you may not have the ATA gene, but you didn't miss out on the Ancient arrogance gene did you?" McKay's hands shook as he ripped open his dinner MRE.

Ronon removed a kettle from the fire. "Think maybe you've had enough of this stuff, McKay?"

"Does death by asteroid mean anything to you? Another day's gone. There's one day left. I need every minute of it. Who are you going to trust," McKay jerked his thumb towards Kelore, "his approach, which is frying Sheppard's brain, or my track record of pulling a scientific miracle out of thin air at the last minute?"

Ronon put the kettle back on the fire.

John took a small drink of water and cleared his throat. "About this suitability," he rasped.

"It is clear our system is more taxing to you than your Atlantean system. However, you have the capacity to save the inhabitants of this world. It _is_ what you do, is it not?"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't stick my neck in a noose to do it."

"Really? The inquiry suggested otherwise."

John clamped his mouth shut. He was too exhausted to argue and although he tried to ignore it, some part of him thought that Kelore had a point.

"You cannot possibly compare personal risk freely undertaken in the service of others to this situation." Teyla's eyes flashed with anger.

"Surely, Colonel Sheppard has been in a situation requiring him to place someone at risk to save the lives of others. This is no different."

_Or to save the life of one_, John thought, recalling the 'choice' he offered Wallace. He swallowed, struggling to keep the medicine in place. His stomach had never managed particularly well when he thought of that moment. _Think of something else. _ "What happened to the Puddlejumper?"

"It was damaged during research activities."

"Which were…?" McKay prompted.

"Irrelevant to you."

"But the data from the actual crash…" McKay snapped his fingers. "My, God! It's not a chair malfunction is it? It's the flight data! The sensors record velocity, temperature…impact…disintegration." McKay looked pale and sick. "I don't know how you've done it but Sheppard's experiencing… He's living through… Jesus…"

"Kelore meant no harm," Melkus offered. "The pain is not real. The after effects can be managed with the proper ingredients…"

John fought against the flames licking across his skin again. His mind raced, but he couldn't pick out and hold one thought, couldn't form a single word. His jaw locked and his hand clawed as his muscles seized. His lungs worked overtime, pulling, without drawing in enough oxygen. He knew this feeling. He'd fought it before.

Ronon's hand was on his back, rubbing vigorously. "Breathe. Come on, Sheppard… Breathe."

"What is the purpose of this barbaric practice?" Teyla raised her voice, grabbing Kelore, the front of his robes bunched tightly in her hands.

Kelore struggled to no avail in Teyla's grasp. "It-it is merely a teaching tool. It has been tested. It is efficient…and effective."

McKay had gone from white to a livid red color. He advanced on Kelore. "The Ancients didn't just offer technology for the betterment of the population, did they? They tested it on them."

"Sheppard! Dammit! Breathe!" Ronon's voice seemed very far away.

John managed to suck in one stuttering breath just as his vision faded.

~~~~oooo~~~~

"It is best if your find your own path." Kelore's voice lacked conviction now.

"My path is to gather the information I need and then make my own decisions." John's voice sounded far more faint that Kelore's. But there was steel in his words.

Kelore tugged on the ropes binding his hands. "The tool was not initially designed to inflict pain. It was not even designed for use with the chair. It was a neural interface for those with or without the ATA gene. It was hoped that the enhanced connection with the student's mind would facilitate the learning process."

"I can't find any records on it." McKay was back at work on his laptop.

"The approach was abandoned."

"Which is another way of saying the Ancients screwed up and covered their tracks again." McKay banged his fist in frustration.

"The approach is still in use," Teyla pointed out.

"The circumstances required its resurrection. Guardians before me found…new applications."

McKay rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "I don't suppose you would know how it works?"

"I do not know the basis for this technology."

"I do," John whispered, trembling with the realization. The scratching in his mind, the claws in his brain that seized control… "Feels like—" He started to gag. "Wr-Wraith…mind…control."

Even Kelore looked shocked this time. "I…I did not know… It-it was a means of accessing the mind to share knowledge… It was devised long ago. Surely it was not based on…"

Gagging turned into choking as what little there was in John's stomach forced its way up his esophagus.

"It is not such a surprise," Teyla spoke through clenched teeth as she knelt down beside John, "that the Latirans took up arms against this method of 'betterment.'" She spat out the last word.

Ronon grabbed Kelore by the hair and yanked his head back. "What is the new application?"

"The neural connection…allows for very realistic simulation. The Guardians found ways to simulate pain… to facilitate the learning of pain management." Kelore's strained to speak until Ronon tossed the man's head forward again.

"For what purpose?" Ronon demanded.

"There are those with the blood of the ancestors who harbor gifts — a high threshold for pain…the ability to separate mind and body. In the right circumstances such an individual may escape from his physical body and use endurance in the service of others as a route to Ascension."

John's mind reeled. He thought back to his last time in the chair. He'd almost separated entirely from his body then, but his team had anchored him. Even away from the chair, the 'after effects' were almost bad enough to… _Shit_ "Ascension? How…how will that fix the shield?"

"Once you have ascended, such a task becomes easy. There was no one left here or anywhere in this galaxy with the skill to repair failing systems. But the Ascended could accomplish this with ease."

"The Ascended are not allowed to interfere in the lives of others." Teyla's voice shook.

"Once the task has been accomplished, that is not relevant. Three million lives will have been spared. And before you argue any further, tell me that less than twenty four hours from now, when the situation becomes critical, Colonel Sheppard will not willingly undertake this task to save the inhabitants of this planet and for all of you."

"Bastard," Ronon forced through bared teeth at Kelore.

~~~~oooo~~~~

"Shit!" McKay banged around, muttering, cursing, slamming his hands on the console, and cursing some more.

John couldn't suppress a whimper. His headache had reached excruciating proportions despite the medication Melkus had been allowed to prepare before being tied up beside Kelore.

McKay dropped down crouching in front of Sheppard. "Look, I know you feel crappy… No, actually, I can't imagine how bad you feel, but don't you dare even _think_ of ascending."

"McKay, I…"

"I don't want to hear it. Just keep your mind off ascension. That's all you have to do, okay? I'll do the rest. Just don't think about ascension."

John didn't respond.

"Promise me!"

"O-k-kay." John breathed, and then curled up tighter so his friend wouldn't see his eyes water with pain.

~~~~oooo~~~~

"John…" Teyla's voice wavered. She picked up his hand and held it.

"D-don't…" he murmured.

She drew in a breath and nodded. "You know what I mean to say."

John squeezed her hand.

~~~~oooo~~~~

Ronon sat beside John. "Remember when we were trapped in that collapsed building and you told me we were gonna shoot until we couldn't shoot any more?"

"Th-that's…the…plan…now."

"Knew you'd say that."

~~~~oooo~~~~

"Okay, here's the deal." McKay looked terrible. Dark circles ringed his glassy eyes. His whole body shook from the combined effects of the Latiran house blend and three days without sleep. "In a couple of hours we'll reach the edge of the asteroid field. The first meteor showers are close… I think I can fix the system, but I-I haven't… I'm sorry, Sheppard, I can't fix the chair and you're going to have to use the chair to allow me access to work. Whatever you do, though, don't ascend. Give me a chance. I…I'll fix it and we'll have you home in no time."

Kelore shook his head. "Even if you do repair the system, if you do not allow him to ascend, it is unlikely that he will survive. It is selfish to ask him to—"

"Don't wanna hear from you again," Ronon threatened, his weapon leveled at Kelore.

Melkus turned his head away from the scene.

"We have to get the gate open, too, because we have to…" McKay looked at Sheppard and swiped a hand across his eyes. "Ronon, when I say 'go,' you grab Sheppard and…"

"I got it. Run for the gate."

"Teyla…" McKay turned to his teammate

"I will go upstairs, dial the gate, and radio for medical assistance at that time." She headed over and undid the bonds on Kelore and Melkus.

"Let's d-do it." John's voice was barely audible.

No one spoke as Ronon helped John to the chair.

John closed his eyes and sat back. And then he was flying again.

John screamed as he erupted in flames. Scorched skin peeled from muscles, muscles tore from limbs, and limbs splintered until he was nothing but dust. And still the pain consumed him. It became all he knew. It obliterated his thoughts and memories until his entire subsistence took on a single focus. _Escape._ Terminal velocity for the journey, when non-existence became his state of existence, when time ceased to exist. John wondered what the difference was between ascending to a higher plane and descending into madness, wondered which of those two paths he was taking as his mind pulled away from his body.

Something tugged at John — an anchor pulling at his heart, calling him back.

"_Goddammit, Sheppard! Don't you dare ascend! You promised."_

John crashed. He wasn't sure what he screamed out loud and what he screamed inside his head. Maybe he begged for it to stop. Maybe it was inarticulate agony.

"_I…I…I'm… One more second… Sheppard, stay with me… Oh, God, I… Yes! It worked… Teyla, Ronon, go, go, go!"_

His team was safe. The pain stopped. John floated, watching from above as McKay gave a signal to Teyla and Ronon. He watched as Teyla fled down the hall toward the DHD. And he watched as Ronon took off at a run for the gate, the body of his team leader, John's body, in his arms, McKay not far behind.

~~~~oooo~~~~

In the days after, there were times John almost wished he _had_ ascended. Almost. His team wouldn't let him go there. At times, he was close to waking, close enough for the pain to bleed through every drug Keller had given him. Those were the times he was also close enough to waking to know who was nearby, silently willing him to fight for his life.

In the hours when John was aware enough to know that the screaming and cursing was coming from his own mouth, he was also aware enough to know who was talking to him in whispers that caressed his skin and soothed his mind.

In the minutes when he was aware enough to remember the horror with such clarity that he could feel the agony of every minute of his flight play itself out over and over, he was aware enough to know whose fear and desperation and pain hurt as much as his own, aware enough to know who feared losing their friend even more than John feared losing his life.

John's team anchored him to the physical world with a strength that outweighed the power of more than one thousand of the Ascended.

~~~~oooo~~~~

"Colonel? Wake up. You've slept long enough. It's time to open your eyes… I'll let you go back to sleep in a minute."

John exhaled, making a breathy sound that didn't quite pass for a syllable.

"That's it. Now, come on. Open your eyes."

John pried his lids apart, and then slammed them shut against the glare of the lights.

"Still not dim enough for you? Hold on… There. Try this."

John had no inclination to try that again, but the voice had a firm, insistent tone and he found his eyelids overriding his brain. Fuzzy shapes swam in the low light. One of the shapes loomed over him a bit, causing John to cringe in reflex.

"It's okay. Relax. Do you know where you are?"

John heard the hum of Atlantis. Home. He inhaled. Barely a scent of the ocean and not a hint of dirty laundry. Not his quarters. Antiseptic. "'Fir…'firmmm-rry."

"Very good. Colonel…?"

John felt hands steady his head as he tried to turn it to the side.

"Moving around's not such a good idea right now."

But John couldn't stop. Not until he had all the pieces of the puzzle. His head pushed against the hands as he squirmed, trying to turn the other way. He whimpered as the pain in his head shot up. "T-teammm?"

"Ah. I asked them to step outside for a minute. They're fine. They weren't so keen on leaving the infirmary for a break, but they're fine."

The figure turned away for a minute. Blond hair. White coat.

"Kell'r?"

Keller turned back. "If you can tell me your name, too, you're three for three."

"J-John…Shepp'rd."

"Perfect. I'm going to give you something for the pain now and let you sleep a little more."

"N-nooo. Ssseeee. Team."

"You want to see your team now?"

"Mmm." John dragged one hand across his face in a clumsy gesture, trying to rub his tired, sore eyes. Instead, he knocked something away from his face.

"Hold on. You still need the oxygen for a little bit." Keller replaced the mask on his face and finished up her examination. "You know, it's kind of odd. You had a lot of symptoms of altitude sickness. But your team said that you were with them all the time. So…" Keller pursed her lips and frowned for a moment.

"F-f-flying."

"Yeah. Ronon told me about the side effects of some of the drugs."

John didn't think that was what he meant, but what he'd intended to say was slipping away.

"The preliminary analysis of the powder that Teyla brought back indicates it's similar to a drug that we use to treat altitude sickness — which fits with your symptoms, but it's sorta odd, you know, given that you weren't hiking up any mountains… Basically, I'm not exactly sure what that means yet, but we'll figure it out." Keller patted John's shoulder, and then reached into her pocket. "In the meantime, I've got some stuff that'll help."

"Noooo." One of John's hands flailed as he tried to grab Keller's arm. "Wanna see…m-my teammm…n-now." He closed his eyes for a minute, fighting off a wave of dizziness.

Keller sighed. "A short visit."

~~~~oooo~~~~

Even without Keller's drugs, John had almost drifted back to sleep when his team returned to his bedside.

"John." Teyla smiled as she approached the bed and clasped one of John's hands.

Ronon ambled in next. "Hey." He pulled up the nearest chair, dropped into it and placed his feet on the bed, careful not to jostle his friend.

"Pulled it off again." McKay hastened to claim a spot at John's bedside. "But lest you let yourself get carried away by your genetic predisposition towards arrogance, just remember who it was that pulled you out."

All present and accounted for. Safe and sound. John finally relaxed.

This time, John didn't protest when Keller stepped forward to inject the medication into his I.V. John felt the drugs pull him under a few moments later. He drifted back to sleep, the voices of his teammates blending with the soothing hum of Atlantis.

"…And Woolsey hasn't answered a single one of my emails about a reserve supply of coffee."

"Mr. Woolsey has spent several days in meeting with the Coalition and the IOA. I believe he said the political issues surrounding Latira would be resolved when 'hell freezes over.'"

"Keeps him off my back about reports…"

This was one of the days, John thought, when his parachute had opened and let him drift gently to the ground.

~~~~oooo~~~~

The End

~~~~oooo~~~~

**Prompt Note:** This was written for the **sheppard_hc** Secret Santa 09 Fiction Exchange at LiveJournal for **lorr54** who wanted something to do with the ATA gene and wanted the team searching for something to prevent a catastrophe that was not on Earth or Atlantis. It also had to be set during Carter's or Woolsey's tenure as leader of story ended up not quite a search so much as a problem to be solved, but I think I covered the rest.


End file.
